


no grave but the sea

by kimaracretak



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Electricity Play, F/F, Monster Girls, Other, Tentacle Sex, Transformation, bestiality? i assume this could do with a bestiality warning like. giant squid n all, dubcon, some of us stress-wrote tentacle smut during the ep102-ep103 break don't give me that look
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: Vilya fails, and is offered a choice(it is not much of a choice at all)





	no grave but the sea

**Author's Note:**

> i mentioned vilya/vesh as a half thought out joke months ago but jokes on me it is the exact sort of lost monster girl/lost eldritch god trope i am trash for? and then [someone on the kinkmeme wanted anyone/the kraken](http://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/700.html?thread=219068#cmt219068) and i. got Ideas.
> 
> (with apologies to the kmeme OP i am. not sure this is what they were looking for, precisely, tho it does involve tentacle sex, so)

Vilya doesn't hear the voice until she's gone limp in the kraken's grip, the unconscious or dead bodies of her companions carried far past her eyesight by the current. She's failed, she knows — even if she makes it back to the portal a leader who comes back alone is no leader at all.

And yet when the voice crawls into her mind, into all the hollow spaces she has felt grow with every death in this icy blue tomb, it says: _You're different than the others. Stronger. Mine._

Vilya feels the water rush over her wounds as the kraken lifts her to their good eye and she flinches, struggling anew against the tentacle wrapped around her waist.

 _Yes_ , the voice continues. _Yes, you'll do nicely._

 _Nicely for what?_ she tries to demand, but the water pours into her mouth and robs her of her words despite the stone in the hollow of her throat.

 _Nicely for_ me, the voice says, and it's the kraken — it _must_ be — but there's a weight behind it, something so dark and timeless that she's sinking, sinking, sinking so far she doesn't realise the water has stolen her robe as well until she feels the rough-slick slide of the kraken's flesh against her own. It leaves freezing trails where it passes, gooseflesh rising in its wake, and she trembles as the tentacle tweaks at her nipples, nudges between her legs.

And _oh_ , Vilya thinks, as more tentacles than she had counted wind around her wrists, her ankles, suspend her in the now-still water. _Yours. Of course._

She has been numb for so long she is not even surprised when this time her scream is drowned in the kraken's laughter.

It doesn't hurt, at first, this teasing exploration of her body, and it is almost worse this way. Not gentle but _careful_ , and for all Vilya bites her lip and pulls against her living bonds she feels her body react, feels herself growing slick and wet between her legs with more than this plane's endless ocean.

 _You failed, daughter of the storm,_  the kraken whispers. _You failed, and now you have a chance at your redemption. To become something more.  
_

Vilya whimpers, throws her head back and meets something soft: another tentacle, cradling her head as the tip circles forward to prod into her mouth.

 _No need to answer_ , the kraken says, as she bites down, the tentacle's flesh surprisingly unyielding as it teases along her tongue, across the backs of her teeth. _I know already what you would say._

Vilya knows too: knows she is weak, failed and bent, ripped apart by the tempest she would never speak for again. Knows that she would say _yes_ , say, _let me die, and let whatever you offer take my place. Let me be different, anew._

Vilya knows power, knows deals with lands and with the things that inhabit them. Vilya knows that she is a coward, and Vilya knows that she _wants_.

(It does not, really, feel as much of a contradiction as it should be.)

 _Good,_  the voice in her mind murmurs, dark and pleased, and Vilya chokes on a half-formed plea as the tentacle between her legs slips inside her.

She's not ready for something so big, not ready at _all,_ and she would scream again if not for the tentacle in her mouth pushing further in, both of them working in an alien rhythm that demands her submission as surely as it promises her pleasure.

 _This is the start,_  the voice whispers, and Vilya moans, chants _yes, yes_  in the dark corners of her mind where she knows she will be heard because there is no new life for her without the death of her companions, no pleasure at the end of this pain as the kraken's tentacle fucks into her harder, _deeper._

Vilya had dreamed of this, once, had dreamed she had swallowed the sea whole and it had filled her up and up and _up_  until there was no breath, no blood, not even skin because she had burst such fragile bounds. Never once had she dreamed the sea would come to her like _this_ , would spread her out in a nowhere place and hold her still, so still against the pulsing pounding ropes of _light_  that fill her.

 _Infinite_ , and there is another promise now, another layer to the voice. _See how much you can hold._

She's full, so full now, and with her eyes shut she can almost pretend — can almost —

— there is nothing to pretend, as lightning bursts inside her, scorches the inside of her mouth and tips her so close to coming she can almost imagine it, spread and filled like an offering to something she can't name.

Her cunt aches almost past the point of pain, and everything about her is stretched unbearably far apart. Still she writhes against the kraken's grip, but forward now, always forward, chasing the ecstasy that pierces her mouth, her cunt, every centimetre of her bare skin where she's flayed raw to the water that seems to urge the tentacles deeper into her every time she thinks she can't possibly take any more.

Vilya would beg, if she were with a mortal lover. But the sea's love knows no pleas, and the kraken presses perfect circles of suction-bruises into her skin and does not move faster no matter how much she tries to force herself forward. Even druids cannot move the elements when they all stand opposed, she might think if she still had the capacity to _think_  split across the thread of pleasure-pain.

But she doesn't think, just breathes shallow and desperate through her nose and relishes the rough drag of the kraken's flesh across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, the sharp flicks of the tentacle's tip against her clit.

 _There now,_  the voice returns, piercing through the hazy cloud of arousal that's enveloped her. _There now, show me what you are._

There are monsters under Vilya's skin that have only ever waited for their time to be set free, and as lightning explodes around her once more she feels them all clawing at her bones at once as she comes harder than she ever thought she could, clenching, _biting_  down on the kraken's embrace as she feels something _burst_  from her skin.

When her eyes flicker back into focus she finds herself limp, no longer held aloft. There are colours where before there was only blue, and as she shivers she feels her entire body move, bigger than anything she's transformed into before.

There is a woman before her and she does not quite have Vilya's face but she is not quite anything else, either.

 _I'm so proud_ , the voice still echoes in Vilya's head, and she no longer has her old body to ache with emptiness, but her _mind_ throbs now, wanting the words, wanting everything this women is. She reaches out with one long tentacle, lifts the woman to her again.

_Vesh does give rewards, you see._


End file.
